


Green Dragon Crying

by Psappho (AthenaAstrea)



Series: Green Dragon [2]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, Interval (Dragonriders of Pern), M/M, Mating Flight (Dragonriders of Pern), Porn What Porn?, Porn With Plot, Weyr Politics, Weyr Society, lightly edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12010581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaAstrea/pseuds/Psappho
Summary: Math and Kith's unexpected mating flight turns out to have far-reaching consequences. Some are immediately apparent. Others take longer to make themselves known. All of them are complicated. And one in particular may be deadly. Can Weyrleader S'ven figure out what is going on before J'son and Kith pay the ultimate price?





	Green Dragon Crying

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fanfiction. All rights to _The Dragonriders of Pern _belong to Anne McCaffrey.__

“Are you saying we’ve been negligent?” H’son, Weyrleader of High Reaches, demanded.

S’ven sat back in his chair, regarding the other weyrleader with weary sympathy. H’son was the next youngest weyrleader after S’ven, and had been in his position for only two turns. He was still feeling uncertain, and his volatile, often combative relationship with his weyrwoman Alesa certainly did not help matters. S’ven had been equally insecure when he first came into the weyrleadership, but thankfully, Lidia was a steadier queen rider than Alesa.

“We’re _saying_ that we’ve all had a lot on our plates, and now that threadfall is over, it’s time to take stock of what fell through the cracks,” S’mon said patiently.

Today’s meeting was solely among the weyrleaders and was taking place at Ista Weyr. It was a warm day— it was Ista, all days were warm at Ista— and the windows of the council chamber let in a soft breeze off the ocean. S’ven inhaled, hoping the gentle, salt-flavored air would soothe his ragged nerves.

“Maybe that has happened in your weyrs,” Alesa said, tossing her head. “High Reaches has not let its responsibilities slip, even during threadfall.”

S’ven resisted the urge to rub his temples. He was tired and ill-tempered, and to make matters worse, Math was not speaking to him— quite a feat, since they lived in each other’s minds. The memory of why Math was wroth with him rose up in his mind unbidden, drowning out the touchy High Reaches weyrleaders.

He had been sitting with A’sander and D’ren in the dining hall the night before, drinking Benden red and catching up on weyr gossip, when Math had spoken  urgently in his mind.

 _ < Kith!> _ he had said. _ <Kith rises!> _

S’ven had started, nearly spilling wine everywhere. For one thing, Math should not know that a green at Fort Weyr was rising, whether he’d once flown her or not. For another, even if Kith had a short cycle, it was at least three sevendays too early for her to be rising again.

“What’s wrong, S’ven?” D’ren had asked.

“Math,” S’ven had replied. “He’s… wait a moment.”

 _ <How do you know that, Math?> _ he had asked. _ <And why are you telling me?> _

_ <Kith rises!> _ Math had repeated. _ <We must go!> _

_ <What?> _ S’ven had demanded, sitting up very straight. _ <Math, we can’t go. We are of Igen. Kith is of Fort. We were guests when Kith rose before, and even that strained the bounds of courtesy. We cannot go to Fort for the sole purpose of flying one of their greens.> _

_ <But… Kith rises!> _Math’s voice had been so lost and plaintive that S’ven had had to swallow down a lump of sympathetic pain.

He had turned to his wingseconds, who had been watching him in puzzlement, and had spoken as steadily as he could.

“Math is… distressed,” he had said. “I must go. I will see you tomorrow.”

He had left before they could ask questions.

 _ <She rises,> _ Math had cried in his head as he made his way back to his weyr. _ <She rises and I cannot rise with her! Why? Why can I not rise with Kith?> _

_ <She is not of our weyr, Math,> _ S’ven had insisted, gritting his teeth against Math’s misery. _ <She is not ours to fly for.> _

_ <She does not want the dragons of Fort!> _ Math had snarled. _ <They are offensive to her, she does not want any of them as her mate!> _

S’ven had sworn. It was uncommon for a green to find all of her suitors displeasing, but it did happen, and when it did, the flight could be bloody.

 _ <Math, do Chadrath and Sidroth know that Kith’s flight is going ill?> _he had asked, entering his weyr and practically running for Math’s ledge.

His bronze had been perched on the edge, shifting restlessly, wanting to take flight and held back only by his rider’s will.

 _ <Sidroth knows,> _ Math had said, tossing his head. _ <She tries to calm Kith. She tells her to let one of these dragons fly her, but Kith does not want them!> _

S’ven had pressed himself up against Math’s shoulder, trying to sooth the big bronze’s agitation. Math, however, could not be soothed.

 _ <J’son is frightened,> _ the bronze had said. _ <Why can we not go to him?> _

S’ven had dropped his head against Math’s shoulder.

 _ <He is not ours to go to, Math,> _he had said painfully.

They had waited, tense and miserable, until suddenly Math had surged to his feet, giving an outraged bellow that had S’ven wincing.

 _ <Dobreth has flown Kith,> _ Math had spat. _ <Kith is angry. J’son is afraid.> _

S’ven had closed his eyes against the wave of anguish that had swept through him. Most of it had been Math’s, but not all. The thought of J’son being taken by yet another rider he did not want had been a bitter one. Math had turned darkly whirling eyes on his rider, his mind filled with confusion, anger, and grief.

 _ <J’son is in pain,> _ he had said, his mental voice tormented. _ <He needs our help. Why can we not help him?> _

S’ven had swallowed back bile, the knowledge of what was now happening to that beautiful, vulnerable boy making him ill.

 _ <Math, bespeak Sidroth,> _ he had forced himself to say. _ <Tell her that Meia should send Imogen to J’son as soon as possible.> _

_ <Sidroth speaks to her rider,> _ Math had said. Then he had looked at S’ven. _ <J’son cries for us,> _ he had told him miserably. _ <He cries for us, but we do not come. Why do we not come?> _

S’ven had not known what to say, and Math had withdrawn his mind from him. S’ven had been left alone with the sickening knowledge that, when he was frightened and in pain, J’son had cried out for him and he could do nothing. That thought had kept him awake through the night, and was a weight in his heart even now.

The precise, strident voice of Ilona, Weyrwoman of Benden, brought him abruptly back to the present:

“Are you making excuses for these ne'er do wells, Weyrleader S’mon?”

“No, Ilona,” S’mon returned wearily. “I am pointing out that all they know is fighting thread, and since thread is gone, they are going to look for something else to fight. Rather than bemoan human nature, we should be giving our young hotheads something constructive to do.”

“We are dragonriders, not beasts,” B’ron, Benden’s weyrleader, stated in a sententious tone. “We should not be making allowances for those who cannot overcome their baser natures.”

There was a collective wince around the table. B’ron was, indeed, famous for not making allowances, to the point where neither S’ven nor Telgar’s weyrleader R’den would lend him wings unless they flew independently. S’ven cited incompatible flying styles which caused Igen’s wings and Benden’s to foul each other up, but the truth was, he’d lost too many riders under B’ron’s inflexible leadership. R’den, on the other hand, simply told B’ron he didn’t want his riders flying with him, which meant that he had no problem telling the older weyrleader off now.

“For pity’s sake, B’ron,” he said, “Save the moralizing for the old wives. S’mon has brought up a legitimate concern, one that has more ramifications than I think he realizes. For one thing, if it only takes a few turns for weyr culture to begin to erode, how are we supposed to preserve what we know about fighting thread for an entire Interval?”

There was a long, uneasy silence.

“R’den makes a point,” Lidia said. “None of us fought at the beginning of the Pass, but I have spoken with my predecessor at length about those first falls. Gila tells me that, while their theoretical knowledge of fighting thread was sound, the wings that first met thread were woefully unprepared. Both dragons and riders lacked the physical reflexes that actual training provide.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked V’tor, Weyrleader of Ista and their host for the day. “Because I think that two hundred turns of flying drills is going to get a bit boring, to be honest.”

Something in S’ven’s head clicked and he sat up.

“That’s it,” he blurted out.

Everyone looked at him in shock, probably surprised that he was still there, since he so rarely said anything.

“Would you like to share with the class, S’ven?” Meia asked, amused.

“Er,” S’ven said, realizing too late that he had drawn more attention to himself than he would have liked, “I was just thinking, S’mon was saying that our younger riders are getting into trouble because they don’t have any way of proving themselves, and V’ton was pointing out that doing drills that are never going to be put into practice is going to get frustrating. But what if we turn the drills into contests? That could solve both problems at once, couldn’t it? Keep the weyrs’ practical skills sharp and give the riders something to fight for?”

“It could do more than that,” Janira of Telgar said slowly. “You know that queens tend to favor the best fighters when they mate. It seems to be a way of improving dragonkind, making each successive generation more effective against thread. The kind of competitions you are suggesting would be a way for them to measure their prospective mates and improve the bloodlines during the Interval.”

S’ven regarded Telgar’s weyrwoman almost reverently. She was known to be incredibly wise and perceptive, despite still being fairly young for her position, but he was still taken aback by how easily she could make the most startling insights seem like basic common sense. Even B’ron, who had clearly wanted to protest the idea, could not speak against Janira’s logic.

There was a respectful pause, then S’mon smiled and spread his hands.

“It seems that we have decided on a course of action,” he said. “It would be negligent in the extreme not to pursue something which could so serve dragonkind.”

“That means someone has to figure out how to make drills into games,” V’ton said, “Which is going to be a full-time job, since once they’re done, they’re going to have to actually teach them to all the other weyrs and figure out how to integrate them into weyr life.”

“Not to mention, we’re going to have to set up some kind of system of recognition,” Meia added. “It’s not going to do much good as motivation if the winners don’t get properly praised.”

“It seems only right that S’ven should have this honor, since it was his idea,” B’ron said with a magnanimous smile.

S’ven was pretty sure that this was the other weyrleader’s revenge for having had an idea he didn’t agree with, but he couldn’t exactly call B’ron out on it, since it was couched in a compliment.

“I’m not certain I am the best person for the job,” he said uncomfortably. “I have hesitated to bring it up, since it is nothing more than a feeling, but I don’t believe I will remain the Weyrleader of Igen when Laurenth rises again.”

There was a collective intake of breath around the table. More than one set of eyes flickered to Lidia, and S’ven sent her a look of abject apology. Lidia, however, appeared unruffled.

“Why so, S’ven?” Amila of Ista asked delicately.

S’ven shrugged, face flushing scarlet under the collective scrutiny of the weyrleaders of Pern.

“I was a good choice to lead during threadfall,” he said. “Math and I are at our best in the air. But, thanks be to Faranth, that is no longer where the weyrs’ chief focus lies. Now that the Pass is over, I think another rider would be better suited to lead Igen. ”

“And what are your feelings on this, Lidia?” Amila asked, her voice soft.

“I believe that S’ven would do an excellent job of leading Igen into the Interval,” Lidia said. “I also believe that he would be miserable doing it. We are engaged in politics now, not fighting thread, and S’ven loathes politics, for all he has learned to be good at them. As he says, the air is where his heart— and his talents— lie.”

“Well, that works out quite neatly,” V’ton said with ostentatious brightness. “If S’ven takes on the job of putting together training games, he’ll be doing precisely what he’s good at, and when Laurenth rises and some other poor sod takes the politics off his hands, he might even have time enough to manage the bloody mess.”

“Done,” S’mon said quickly. “If you’re willing, S’ven, I think this would be the perfect solution.”

“I am willing,” S’ven said, trying and failing to disguise his relief and excitement.

Finally, a job he was actually _good_ at. He could hardly wait to get back in the air with his wing and start experimenting.

“You’re very cool about changing weyrmates, Lidia,” Alesa said, her voice biting. “Growing restless, are you?”

Alesa was an instigator, and everyone knew it, but S’ven still winced at the sheer affrontery of the the question.

“No,” Lidia said, fixing High Reaches’ weyrwoman with an icy glare, “I am not.”

“Come, come,” Alesa said, even though more than one censorious look was now being directed towards her. “There must be someone who has caught you eye? You can’t blame us for being curious, we all want to know who we’ll be dealing with after you put S’ven out to pasture.”

Everyone winced. S’mon made a pained sound and even H’son looked discomfited.

“I believe we have strayed beyond the bounds of polite curiosity,” Amila said.

“No, Alesa is correct,” B’ron spoke up, a smug look on his face. “It is Pern’s business who the next weyrleader of Igen will be if S’ven is not equal to the task.”

S’ven gritted his teeth and bit back a sharp retort, but Lidia was not so circumspect.

“If you insist on twisting an honest disclosure made in good faith into grounds for insult, B’ron, I think that there is more than one person here who will be happy to likewise dispense with the rules of courtesy where you are concerned,” she snapped. “You may not like what we have to say when not restrained by common decency.”

“I speak only the truth!” B’ron said loudly. “If a bronze rider is not willing to fight for what is his, he might as well ride a green!”

More than one person hissed in shock and anger at that, and S’ven’s self-control snapped. Coming on top of the events of yesterday, B’ron’s slur on green riders was too much.

“You don’t have the strength or the good grace to be a green rider, B’ron,” he said. “One mating flight and I warrant you would be crying for your foster mother.”

There was a general gasp. B’ron went abruptly scarlet and began trying to force out a response, but was hindered by an incipient fit of apoplexy. S’mon gave S’ven a speculative look before breaking in.

“Well, now that we’ve all quite thoroughly ruffled each others’ wings, perhaps we should leave off with the insults and the gossip alike and talk about transfers,” he said. “We need to even out the numbers or we’ll have a hugh and cry from the Holders. Those beholden to Fort already want to know why they’re still tithing to support riders we don’t have, and I’m sure those beholden to the more fortunate weyrs feel they’re doing more than their share to ensure the future of dragonkind.”

“Benden and Fort are flying lightest, right?” V’ton said. “High Reaches and us are down a few wings from where we should be, and Telgar and Igen are still at almost full fighting strength.”

“That’s about the shape of it,” S’mon said. “The logical thing is to transfer riders from Igen and Telgar to Fort and Benden, and leave Ista and High Reaches as they are. That should even things out again and share the burden of tithing fairly among all the Holds.”

“No rider will transfer to Benden from Igen while B’ron is weyrleader,” Lidia said, her voice tight.

“Nor from Telgar,” R’den said.

B’ron went from red to purple, while Ilona paled. S’mon rubbed his temples.

“Lidia, R’den, please,” he said. “You know as well as I do that this is necessary. We can’t simply allow Benden’s Holders to tithe less than all the others, and asking them to tithe to another weyr is flat heresy.”

“I’m sorry, S’mon,” Lidia said, “But I care for my riders— _all_ my riders— and I will not send them where they will be treated with so little regard.”

S’ven looked at Lidia in mute horror. He knew, of course, that she was reluctant to send riders to Benden, even though thread was over and they were no longer in active danger under B’ron’s leadership, but he had never expected her to refuse outright in front of all the other weyrleaders.

“Janira? S’ven?” S’mon pleaded. “Can you talk some sense into your weyrmates?”

S’ven opened his mouth and Lidia cast him a hard look that clearly said, _don’t you_ dare _gainsay me_.

“My weyrwoman has my voice in this,” he said, keeping said voice as firm and unemotional as he could.

“Janira?” S’mon appealed.

“I am sorry, S’mon,” Janira said regretfully. “I sympathize with B’ron’s wish that all riders should strive to be the best that they can be, but in the end, I find that even the most flawed of my people is precious to me. I would not send them where they will be censured simply for being human.”

“Are you people honestly kicking up a Pern-wide fuss because B’ron needled S’ven a bit?” H’son demanded. “Come now, S’ven’s a big boy, he can take it.”

“You think _that’s_ what’s at issue here?” Meia said, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Do try to keep up, H’son. Just because your weyr is on the other side of the continent from Benden doesn’t mean you’ve had sand in your ears for the past two decades.”

“I have always been reluctant to entrust my riders to B’ron,” R’den said calmly. “He is remarkably careless with those under his command. Whenever I have lent him wings in the past, they have always come back… worse for wear.”

“That’s because your riders were soft!” B’ron snarled, finally finding his voice again. “I have no time for weaklings, R’den. If they couldn’t handle fighting with my wings, they had no business calling themselves dragonriders! They’re better off d—”

“B’ron!” Ilona hissed, interrupting him before he could finish that ill-fated sentence.

But the damage was done.

“ _And you have no business calling yourself a weyrleader!_ ” R’den roared, leaping to his feet. “My weyr stopped thread above every cot and hold beholden to it, as well as lending strength to Fort and Benden when they were wing-short, and _still_ managed to make it out of the Pass at fighting strength! Exactly how many riders did _you_ keep alive, B’ron? How many were _strong_ enough to survive your leadership?”

“You _dare_!” B’ron bellowed, surging out of his own chair so forcefully that it crashed to the floor.

Outside, Gnaroth and Salmuth screamed.

“That is enough!” Meia screeched, coming out of her own chair. “As Fort’s weyrwoman, I am officially _ending_ this meeting. B’ron, R’den, I am ashamed of both of you! This is a council, not a public street corner. You cannot brawl here like beggar’s brats! You are _weyrleaders_! Act like it!”

There was a brief silence. Then R’den turned on his heel and left. B’ron took a deep breath, clearly about to begin ranting again, but Ilona rose to her feet and clamped her hand onto his wrist, digging her nails in viciously.

“Enough, B’ron” she said, voice dripping with venom.

She turned and moved toward the door, forcing B’ron to follow or suffer lacerations. The remaining weyrleaders looked at each other, stunned.

“Well,” said V’ton, trying for a light tone and not quite managing it, “That was bracing. Anybody else wishing they could go back to fighting thread right about now?”

“And I’m pretty sure the trouble is only just beginning,” S’mon said wearily.

S’ven said nothing at all. He simply sat, numb and uncomprehending, unable to believe what had just transpired.

 

***

 

S’ven sat on the fur-strewn stone bench in Lidia and M’hew’s weyr, leaning back against the wall and idly examining the smooth rock of the ceiling. He knew, of course, that the first dragonriders had carved the weyrs out of the rock of long-dead firemountains, because the records said so, but those records were unforthcoming on exactly _how_ they had done it. Whatever their method had been, it was far beyond anything that anyone on Pern was capable of now. The floors, walls and ceilings of Igen were almost glassy smooth, with no chips or tool marks anywhere. Almost as though the rock had been _melted_ and then cooled again into its current configuration.

“Drink, S’ven,” M’hew said, pressing a cup of wine into S’ven’s hand and sitting down on the bench next to Lidia. “Sounds like you need it.”

The carved stone lip curved with the wall of the room, so M’hew and Lidia were catercorner to S’ven, looking at him another across the worn surface of a finely joined wooden table.

S’ven gave M’hew a grateful smile and drank, savoring the taste of the vintage. He was still slightly numb, and the lack of sleep was making him slow of both hand and mind.

“You did well today, S’ven,” Lidia said softly, looking at S’ven with gentle, sad eyes.

S’ven closed his eyes.

“Just tell me that H’son was mistaken,” he said. “Tell me that refusing to send any of our riders to Benden had nothing to do with my… unfortunate attack of honesty and B’ron’s reaction to it.”

He and Lidia had given M’hew an account of the meeting as soon as they returned..

“No, S’ven,” Lidia assured him. “I was never going to send our riders to Benden while B’ron was weyrleader. The only thing that changed today was that I was more blunt than I might otherwise have been. And it was not on your account. H’son is right, you are a big boy, you can take care of yourself. No, B’ron as good as said today that he does not respect or care for his riders. After he spoke thus in front of all the weyrleaders, I had to make my position known in the baldest terms. The weyrs are officially autonomous, but we still must serve as a check upon one another, lest we become tyrants. When one of us strays too far beyond the bounds of acceptable behavior, the others must bring them back. B’ron has strayed, and he must either change his behavior or step down.”

S’ven snorted.

“B’ron? Step down? Not while he draws breath.” he said.

“On his own? No,” M’hew said. “But ultimately, it is not his decision. It is Benden’s queen who chooses the weyrleader. Benden’s queen, and her rider.”

“You think Ilona…?” S’ven gasped.

B’ron and Ilona had been weyrmates almost as long as he had been _alive_.

“Perreth is growing old,” Lidia said. “I dare say the only reason she still rises at all is because she is Benden’s senior queen and the weyr’s need supersedes her own. I am sure she is tired and would be grateful to retire and enjoy the rest and pampering that is her due.”

S’ven’s eyes widened.

When a weyr was fortunate enough to have a retired queen, like Igen, Ista, and Telgar all did, she was treated with near-slavish devotion by both weyrfolk and dragons. While a breeding queen was a fiercely independent creature, needing to prove her superior strength, agility, and independence even out of mating season, a retired one was much more approachable. Gila’s queen, Nanath, was perfectly happy to let Igen’s dragons do everything for her, from bringing her food to making her nests in the warm sands by the lake. The weyr children washed and oiled her as often as she cared to be washed and oiled and she was never without an entourage of adolescent dragons, who loved to sleep on her in the afternoon sun. S’ven wondered if curling up against Nanath reminded the dragonets of being safe and warm in their eggs, tucked up tight inside their dams’ bellies, but the fact was, they would never snuggle like that with Laurenth, or with Igen’s junior queens, Teltath and Findreth. The idea of cold, formidable Perreth being so coddled and cuddled was too much for S’ven’s already taxed mind to handle. M’hew caught S’ven’s dismayed look and burst out laughing.

“No need to look so horrified, lad,” he said. “You never met Nanath before Gila stepped down, but she was fully as terrifying as Perreth. I remember when I was a young rider, in my first season flying thread, Seth and I did something particularly wherry-headed. You know how it is, we were trying to be heroes and almost died for our troubles. Anyhow, when we got back to the weyr, Nanath gave us such a scolding that Seth wouldn’t leave our weyr for two days. Wouldn’t do it. Absolutely refused. A couple of tons of proud, powerful dragon cowering in his weyr and refusing to budge. The weyrleader _had_ to ground us, because the damned bronze wouldn’t so much as poke his nose out until Nanath forgave him.”

S’ven couldn’t help it, he started laughing, and M’hew and Lidia joined in. When they finally sobered, S’ven found that he felt much better, enough to finally say what they had been tiptoeing around since thread ended:

“Seth is going to fly Laurenth when she rises again.”

M’hew and Lidia exchanged a glance.

“Mating flights are never certain, of course,” Lidia said, “But I think it is likely.”

Both the weyrwoman and the older bronze rider looked at him anxiously. None of them had come out and said it before, and they were no doubt wondering how he would handle losing the weyrleadership, despite his constant protests that he didn’t want it. S’ven understood. If it he were on the other side of this situation, he would wonder as well.

“Any chance she’ll rise _before_ this thing with Benden comes to a head?” S’ven asked plaintively, reassuring them as best he could that he was looking forward eagerly to his demotion.

“She better not,” M’hew said with a relieved smile and an amused quirk of an eyebrow. “I want to be far, far away when B’ron is forced to step down.”

“You know as well as I do that Laurenth isn’t going to rise again for another half a turn at least, S’ven” Lidia said to S’ven with fond exasperation. “You’re just going to have to grin and bear it.”

S’ven groaned and dropped his head onto the table in a gesture that was only half show. He really was exhausted, and he did _not_ want to deal with this latest drama.

“Cheer up, lad,” M’hew said with provoking good humor. “You get another six moons or so of enjoying the luxuries of the weyrleaders’ quarters.”

“I don’t _want_ the weyrleaders’ quarters,” S’ven gritted out. “I _never_ wanted the weyrleaders’ quarters. I was perfectly happy here in _my_ quarters. I would be very happy to come _back_ to my quarters, if you and Lidia would _let_ me.”

S’ven had moved into the spacious weyr usually reserved for the senior weyrwoman and her current weyrleader when Math first flew Laurenth. What was less talked of, though no less well known, was that on the same day, both M’hew and Lidia had moved into S’ven’s old weyr. S’ven had wanted for them all to stay put and let tradition go hang— it was, after all, _Lidia’s_ weyr— but both M’hew and Lidia had told him patiently that that would not do. Lidia was the weyrwoman and would be the weyrwoman no matter where she slept, but S’ven would only be the weyrleader if he acted the part. Which included living in the weyrwoman’s weyr, even if the weyrwoman herself lived elsewhere.

He was probably the only bronze rider in the history of Igen to occupy the place alone.

Lidia had to put a hand over her mouth and M’hew ended up nearly choking on his wine, both highly amused by S’ven’s protests. S’ven smiled gently. After the day he had had, it felt good to be among friends.

Even if they were laughing at him.

“Was there a point to this, S’ven, or did you just want to complain about the weyr situation?” Lidia asked, still trying to hide her smile.

“I’d like to begin conferring with M’hew on weyr matters, especially as they concern promises to the other weyrs,” S’ven said. “We’re making a lot of decisions right now, and I would prefer not commit M’hew to anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Shards, lad,” M’hew said, running a hand over his face, “Talk about counting dragons before they hatch. What if Seth _doesn’t_ fly Laurenth, eh? Where will we be then?”

“No worse off than we were when Math _did_ fly her,” S’ven said. “Look, to be perfectly frank, if a bronze other than Math or Seth wins her, I don’t really give a burnt shell if his rider doesn’t like what I’ve promised. But I’d rather not do that to you, M’hew. I care about you too much to want you cleaning up my mess.”

S’ven winced inwardly. That hadn’t come out as he intended. Hetook a deep draught of wine, hoping M’hew and Lidia would both let it pass.

Luck was not with him.

“Why, lad,” M’hew said, placing one hand over his heart, “I didn’t know you felt like that. You should have spoken, man. While I admit I don’t usually fly that way, for you, I might be tempted to make an exception.”

S’ven’s tired brain stuttered and froze, overwhelmed by an image of himself and the older bronze rider engaged in an intimate embrace. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make the picture anything but disturbing.

“Shells!” he swore, covering his eyes with his hand as though he could block the mental image. “Don’t _say_ things like that. I won’t say I think of you as a father, M’hew, because my father is a narrow-minded bastard and I would never compare you with him, but… _scorch it_ , thinking of bedding you makes me feel like I’m committing incest.”

M’hew cackled, well pleased by S’ven’s reaction, and Lidia shuddered.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you two, but I regret it deeply,” she said, taking a gulp of her own wine.

At that, S’ven couldn’t help but join M’hew in gleeful laughter.

 

***

 

S’ven stood with Igen’s weyrlingmaster, watching as Teltath’s latest clutch wobbled and flapped and generally tried not to fall out of the sky. There were eleven dragonets in all, a bronze, four browns, three blues, and four greens. S’ven still had to consciously calm his instinctive panic when he thought of how infrequently the queens were now rising and how small the clutches were when they did. The Pass was over, he reminded himself. The weyr only needed enough dragons to ride sweep, ensure a healthy breeding population, and preserve the knowledge and structure of weyr society.

These dragons and their riders would never know thread.

“They’re growing well,” S’ven said to T’mey. “Look at the wingspan on that brown! What has his rider been feeding him?”

“That’s Dukath,” the weyrlingmaster said with a fond smile. “He’s going to rival Igith over there for size, unless I miss my guess. P’ren doesn’t quite know what to do with him. He keeps trying to copy the other browns in practice, even though I’ve told him his dragon is really just a shy bronze.”

S’ven chuckled.

“Think he’ll ever fly a queen?” he asked.

Big browns very occasionally rose for— and won— queens, and their clutches, while often smaller, were unusually hardy. While traditionalists like Ilona and the previous High Reaches weyrleader, N’nel, were completely against brown/gold matings, S’ven, along with Janira and Meia, was of the opinion that having an occasional brown-sired clutch in the breeding population made dragonkind as a whole healthier and more resilient.

“No reason he shouldn’t,” T’mey said with a shrug.

They watched as the weyrlings above them tried to line up in proper wing formation, only to have it fall apart when the bronze and one of the blues wobbled into each others’ airspace. The squawks of surprise and frantic flapping caused S’ven to cover his mouth with his hand. T’mey’s roars of displeasure and correction nearly undid him, but he got himself back under control with a monumental effort.

He remembered his own weyrling days, and he would have died if his weyrleader had laughed at him.

“T’mey,” S’ven said as the dragonets settled, “I have a question for you.”

T’mey cocked an eyebrow at him.

“How many weyrling classes did I make you graduate too soon?” S’ven said, forcing himself not to dissemble.

He knew full well that over a decade of dealing with weyrlings had made T’mey immune to pretense.

Only a slight jerk of T’mey’s head revealed his surprise at the question. He studied S’ven for a long time, then heaved a sigh and turned back to watching the weyrlings.

“I rushed all of ‘em more than I’d of liked,” he said heavily. “And not at your say-so, either. That’s just the way it was. But if we’re talking the ones I graduated when I _knew_ they weren’t ready— five classes. Three under M’hew, two under you.”

S’ven flinched, unable to stop himself doing the math in his head: average of twenty-four dragonets per clutch, times five classes, minus eight percent mortality in the first two years… that was a lot of underprepared riders. He shook himself and pressed on.

“What does it mean, that they weren’t ready?” he asked. “I know they can fly, no wingleader would have kept them if they couldn’t. So what did they miss?”

“That’s part of it, of course,” T’mey said, rubbing the back of his neck. “One class had to scramble through orientation with only the basic reference points, which was a disaster, but after that, I shifted the schedule. After that, those who graduated early missed part of aerial physics, half the weyr duty practicals, and in some cases, history and weyr relations.

“But that’s not really the problem. Since the Pass ended, I’ve been doing refreshers for everybody, getting them back up to speed. Another half turn and nothing will be amiss. But I’ve watched the classes that went up early, and… they just weren’t _dragonriders_ yet when I let them go, and even now, they’re… missing something.”

“Missing something?” S’ven asked carefully.

T’mey shrugged helplessly.

“It’s hard to explain,” he said. “With every class, there’s a moment when it sinks in, that they’ve Impressed and now they have a responsibility to Pern and to each other, one that nobody who doesn’t ride a dragon can understand. I won’t say it makes them mature and well-behaved, because you’d know I was lying, but it… well, it makes them dragonriders. Even the obnoxious ones that you can’t understand why any dragon would pick them, they’re _dragonriders_ , and, when it comes down to it, they’ll give Pern the best that’s in them, even if the best that’s in them makes other folk wish they had been drowned at birth.”

S’ven let out a surprised gulp of laughter. He _did_ sort wish that B’ron had been drowned at birth.

“So,” he said, regaining his composure, “What do I do?”

The ensuing conversation with T’mey was daunting, but productive. They eventually settled on a plan to send the struggling riders to Igen’s outpost on the coast to do the necessary maintenance there, as lightly supervised as they could contrive. Hopefully, the challenge and the forced self-reliance would encourage them to grow into their role as dragonriders. By the time they had a workable plan in place, practice was over, with brown Dukath having tangled himself up trying to turn too fast and the blue and the bronze having finally collided in midair.

 

***

 

A sevenday later, S’ven forewent his usual morning _klah_ and pastry on his own weyr ledge and went down to the dining hall for breakfast. Since becoming weyrleader, he didn’t mingle with the other riders casually as much. He well remembered the awkwardness of having weyrleaders and wingleaders intruding on social time when he was a new rider, but he needed help and he wasn’t about to start summoning riders to his weyr to interrogate them.

He found L’gan and his current companion, a young brown rider named I’nov, sitting with several other riders near the hearth. They were laying odds on when Findreth, Igen’s juniormost queen, was going to rise.

“Tomorrow, forenoon watch,” said an older rider with grizzled hair and a lopsided smile. “She’s looking so damned gold it's a wonder no one’s been blinded yet.”

“Nah,” said a middle-aged female green rider with dark hair dramatically streaked with white. “Tomorrow, last dog watch. She’ll want to make it really inconvenient for all of us.”

“I agree, but I’m going to say tonight, middle watch,” S’ven said, stopping beside L’gan’s chair. “She’s Laurenth’s daughter, she’ll jump before the signal.”

The riders looked up and the younger ones jumped when they realized the weyrleader was standing beside their table. L’gan merely smiled.

“S’ven!” he said easily. “Come to grace the humble masses with your august presence?”

L’gan’s young lover actually _squeaked_ in terror, and S’ven had to bit his lip to keep from laughing. I’nov was very much to L’gan’s taste. He was both broad and strong, and he appeared shy and somewhat naive. He was, in fact, much as S’ven had been when he and L’gan had kept company.

“Don’t go working too hard on that humility, L’gan,” S’ven said, setting down his tray and slouching into the chair beside the older rider. “You might strain something.”

L’gan slapped S’ven lightly on the head, causing the other riders’ eyes to practically start out of their heads.

“Oh, stop that,” L’gan told them. “I remember when our fearless weyrleader was nothing but an overgrown weyrling, as liable to trip over his own bronze’s tail as to sear thread.” He cocked an eyebrow at S’ven. “I’d like to think I managed to teach you a modicum of poise and grace when you were under my tutelage, but…” he shrugged eloquently.

“What is he talking about?” somebody whispered. “L’gan’s never been an instructor, has he?”

“Not _that_ kind of tutelage, stupid,” another rider hissed.

All eyes widened as they realized just what sort of instruction the younger S’ven must have received from the green rider.

“I would have been lost without your guidance, L’gan,” S’ven assured him, sipping his _klah_ and pretending he hadn’t heard the byplay. “In fact, I come seeking your wisdom again.”

“Oh?” L’gan said, leaning back and putting a casual arm around I’nov, who looked like he might faint.

“I’ve been stuck in council chambers and chart rooms so long, I have no idea what the weyr does when our riders are off duty,” S’ven said. “I remember things we did when I was a wingsecond, but I don’t know if we still do them, and if we don’t, what we do instead.”

Everyone stared at him. S’ven sipped his _klah_ and fought the urge to fidget. It was truly unnerving, being the focus of so many unblinking eyes.

“S’ven, why don’t you try again?” L’gan said finally. “I can see you’re trying to be subtle, and it's adorable, lad, it really is, but unfortunately, you’re being _so_ subtle, I can’t tunnel out what it is you actually need.”

The other riders at the table let out predictable little gasps at L’gan’s nerve. S’ven moaned a little and covered his face with his hands, feeling his skin flush. L’gan was the only person on Pern who could make him blush like a weyrling with such unerring consistency.

“I’m worried about our younger riders,” he blurted out. “The ones who Impressed in the last few turns and the ones who will be Impressing soon. It’s… well, I’ve been talking with Fort’s weyrleaders, and with T’mey, and none of us really know how to deal with dragonriders who will never see threadfall. Nobody does. There’s nobody alive that can remember a time when the dragons now hatching on the sands would grow old without ever fighting thread.”

L’gan cocked his head and the rest of the table looked bewildered. S’ven sighed inwardly, wondering if it wouldn’t have been easier after all to ask for a formal meeting with L’gan. None of this was particularly secret, and the rumors that would circulate from this conversation would help get the entire weyr thinking on the matter of what it meant to be dragonriders during the Interval, which was all to the good, but having an audience was proving wearisome.

“You’re going to have to give me a little bit more than that, love,” L’gan said, shaking his head and smirking in amusement. “I’m still not sure what you’re asking me.”

S’ven took a deep breath and tried to focus his thoughts.

“I’ve been trying to remember how I learned about weyr life, besides weyrling classes,” he said. “A lot of it was from you, of course, but the rest was from the things we celebrated— I figured out what was important by seeing what events the other riders thought deserved special note. And then I got to thinking, most of what I’ve been doing by way of celebration, these past turns, has been raising a glass and reciting the names of dragons and riders who have gone _between_.”

Finally, L’gan started nodding.

“You’re thinking about five-years, first flight parties, fool’s luck games, that kind of thing?” he said.

“Exactly,” S’ven said, relieved.

“What are fool’s luck games?” I’nov asked, forgetting for a moment that he was feeling self-conscious in front of the weyrleader.

“Eh,’ L’gan said, “A fool’s luck game happens when you and your dragon have done something really stupid, but got out of it without consequence. Like when young F’gil and his Ebreth went swimming in that lake in the dead of winter, but somehow managed to avoid catching cold. In a fool’s luck game, his friends would have gotten together— usually with a few skins of wine— and played a game of chance. Every time someone lost a bet, they would come up with a new way that F’gil and Ebreth could have met a horrible fate while pulling such a stupid stunt.”

“I haven’t played many of those games lately,” said a middle-aged blue rider. “I think for a lot of us, seeing that Benden dragon and his rider half buried in a cliff face over Lemos when they tried to skip _between_ and came out in the wrong place put us off. We had three wings flying that Fall and… well, I know I just couldn’t stomach playing for a while after that. Guess we got out of the habit.”

There was a collective shudder around the table.

“Ah,” said L’gan, looking at S’ven with serious, knowing eyes. “I’m beginning to see your point. I imagine there’s a lot of things we haven’t felt like celebrating, the past few turns. For the older riders, it doesn’t matter, but for the ones who’ve just Impressed…”

“I think it may be confusing for them,” S’ven said, nodding.

“And I imagine, since you came to me, you want me to do something about it,” L’gan said, lips quirking.

“If there’s something happening in this weyr, you are usually in the middle of it,” S’ven rejoined.

L’gan laughed.

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “I’ll look into it. Especially if you can guarantee that Pamina will be generous with the wine.”

“If I tell her it’s to help her baby riders, she’ll probably start pressing the grapes herself,” S’ven said, inciting general laughter around the table.

 

***

 

S’ven was roused out of a less than sound sleep some time in the cold dark hours of the night by the thrum of restless bronzes and the angry shrieks of a queen in heat.  

 _Findreth_.

He rolled over and moaned. Shards but he hated being right sometimes.

 _ <Math?> _ he asked sleepily. _ <Where are you?> _

_ <I am here, S’ven,> _Math said.

He sounded… alert, restless, but not particularly avid.

 _ <Where is ‘here,’ you big bronze lizard?> _S’ven snapped.

Draconic logic was enough to give him a headache even when he _hadn’t_ just been woken up in the middle of the night.

 _ <On the heights, of course,> _Math replied, clearly wondering why his rider was being so dense.

 _ <Do you want to rise for Findreth?> _S’ven asked, trying to conceal his trepidation.

Findreth was Math’s get, sired during his first flight with Laurenth, and while inbreeding did not work quite the same in dragons as in, say, herdbeasts, S’ven found something unnerving about the idea of Math mating his own daughter. It made him think of his own daughter, Sasha,  and the thought turned is stomach.

 _ <I want to rise, but not for Findreth,> _Math replied.

S’ven buried his head in his sleeping furs and moaned again. Why did his bronze have to be so impossible?

 _ <Are you _ going _to rise for Findreth? > _he tried.

 _ <Yes,> _Math said.

“Well,” S’ven muttered aloud, “Glad we cleared _that_ up.”

He hauled himself out of bed and turned up the glows, groping blindly for his clothes.

Darina’s quarters were already crowded with hopeful bronze riders in varying degrees of dragonlust. S’ven slipped inside and went to stand beside A’sander, who was leaning against the wall and looking miserable.

“Alright, ‘Sander?” he asked.

“No,” A’sander moaned. “I caught that chill S’via had and I feel like _death_ . I begged— _begged_ — Addith not to rise, but he wouldn’t listen. I swear the great bag of guts was laughing at me.”

S’ven made a sympathetic noise, settling back against the wall himself. He found that he could not work up much excitement for this flight. It was late, he was tired, and tomorrow was going to be a _very_ trying day. Findreth was going to do her level best to make sure that every soul in Igen over the age of twelve was be up into the wee hours of the morning, which meant that his weyr was going be extremely short-tempered come daybreak. Somehow, that thought took the edge right off what desire he had managed to dredge up.

However, as Findreth blooded her first herdbeast, then her second, then her third, nature took its course. When the young queen finally took to the skies, S’ven closed his eyes, Findreth’s need surging through him and overwhelming his rational mind with a wave of savage desire. Math leapt into the air after her, and S’ven felt himself leaving his body, soaring into the sky with his bronze.

Joined with Math like this, what Math had said earlier became startlingly clear: the big bronze wanted this, wanted to fly, to mate, but he did want Findreth. S’ven could not understand it, but it was incredibly clear to him that Math had no desire for the queen he was chasing. His desires were focused elsewhere, although where that was, S’ven did not know.

He could not pinpoint the exact moment when everything went wrong. One minute, Math was working to keep pace with Addith and Ogoth, the next, a bolt of anguish and terror had him nearly falling out of the sky. A desperate female voice ripped through both their minds:

_ <MATH!> _

S’ven cried out, groping for the wall as his body swayed. Conflicting images swam before his eyes. In one set, Addith and Ogoth soared above the familiar plains of Igen in moon-touched darkness, while in the other, a flight of blues, browns, and bronzes struggled to keep pace with an unseen quarry over a mountain range at twilight. The second set of images was accompanied by a tidal wave of need, anger, and despair.

 _ <MATH!> _the female voice screamed again, and S’ven recognized it now.

It was Kith.

 _ <Math!> _ S’ven roared, _ <What is happening?> _

_ <Kith rises,> _ Math answered, his mnd thick with equal parts distress and mating lust. _ <Kith rises, but she does not want those who rise with her. She refuses to accept them. She would rather go _ between. _ > _

Math’s horror at this thought was equalled only by S’ven’s own sick terror.

 _ <Can you stop her?> _ he begged his bronze. _ <Please, Math, can you stop her?> _

_ <If you allow me to go to her, I can,> _Math said, and his voice was clearer now, resolve sharpening his focus.

 _ <Can you get to her safely?> _ S’ven asked. _ <Can you see where she is clearly enough to go _ between _? > _

_ <I can always see where Kith is,> _Math replied softly.

 _ <Then go!> _S’ven said.

Later, he would have to figure out what that meant, but for now, it was all he could do to accept the coordinates Math showed him and hold them in his mind, guiding his bronze _between_ even as he stood in Danira’s weyr miles away. Math disappeared, then, three breaths later, burst out of the air above the dusky mountain range, bellowing a challenge.

 _ <MATH!> _Kith cried, her voice savage and relieved and joyous.

Math dived for her, she dodged, and with that, they were off over the mountains, and S’ven realized that he was still at Igen while his bronze pursued a green half a continent away.

“I need to get to Fort,” he choked out. “Shards, I need to get to Fort.”

He stumbled out of the weyr like a drunken man, his mind still mostly aloft with Math, and reeled down the corridor. Thanks be to Faranth, it wasn’t far from Danira’s quarters to the wingleader’s common room, where those bronze riders not involved in the flight were waiting it out with wine and _klah_ from the lower caverns. S’ven lurched into the room, nearly tripping over the threshold, and the riders sitting there started to their feet.

“S’ven, lad!” M’hew said, stepping forward and grabbing the younger man before he could fall. “Faranth’s egg, boy, what’s the matter?”

“Fort— Math— almost lost her—” S’ven babbled. “Please, M’hew, have to get to Fort now!”

“S’ven, lad, you’re not making any sense,” M’hew said, grasping S’ven’s shoulders firmly and forcing the younger man to face him. “Talk to me, man. Almost lost who?”

“Kith,” S’ven said, struggling to answer M’hew when so much of his mind was filled with Math, who was swooping and diving through the mountains with Kith at a pace that made him dizzy.

“Kith,” M’hew said. “Who’s Kith, lad?”

“Green,” S’ven slurred. “Fort green. Math tried to tell me but I didn’t listen. I didn’t listen, M’hew. She almost went _between_. But Math’s with her now. Have to get to J’son before he catches her. Have to get to Fort.”

“Sweet Faranth,” M’hew breathed. “Are you telling me Math isn’t flying for Findreth? He’s flying for a green at Fort?”

“Yes,” S’ven said. “She didn’t want the others. Called for Math. Would have gone _between_ , but Math came. This time, Math came. But J’son… I need to go to J’son.”

Having communicated his need as best he could, S’ven lost his tenuous grip on himself and was back with Math, flying with Kith through the darkening sky over Fort. Kith was taking her time, secure now in the knowledge that, when she was done toying with her suitors, Math would be there to catch her.

Math did not seem to mind.

S’ven was vaguely aware of being wrestled onto Seth’s neck, and then his connection with Math was abruptly severed. He gasped at the cold shock of _between_ , panicking at being so suddenly cut off from his dragon… and then Seth was wheeling above Fort, bellowing to the watchdragon. S’ven reached out frantically for Math, almost sobbing in relief when he found him flirting with Kith in a series of mock dives.

“S’ven, S’ven, can you hear me?” M’hew said in his ear.

S’ven swallowed and nodded.

“Sidroth says that your green’s rider is in the lower caverns,” M’hew said, directing Seth towards the ground. “Guess he got caught by surprise.”

“Too early,” S’ven mumbled. “‘S too early. Don’t know why…”

They reached the ground and M’hew helped S’ven slide off Seth’s back. Then Imogen was there, a strong, comforting presence in S’ven’s hazy awareness.

“J’son?” he asked urgently.

“There, there,” she soothed. “Easy now, love. We’re taking you to him now.”

Imogen took one arm and M’hew took the other and between them, they guided him into the lower caverns.

In the sky, Math was noticing that one of the browns was not acting like the other dragons. The strong, rangy beast was not trying to get around the bronze dragon to reach Kith. Instead, he appeared to be acting as Math’s wingsecond, staying on Math’s flank and running interference when someone tried to outmaneuver the big bronze. S’ven had never seen a dragon act this way before during a mating flight. But, then, most of his flights had been queen flights, so there hadn’t been many browns in them, and what browns there were tended to act like bronzes. Browns in general, though, were more easy-going and had leveler heads, even when caught up in their own instincts. Perhaps this was a quirk unique to this particular color.

Then a door was opening and S’ven was being ushered into a room that smelled of harsh soap, liniment, and numbweed— _infirmary_ , his subconscious told him, recognizing smell from the considerable amount of time he had spent in such places. S’ven blinked to clear his head, looking around anxiously.

The assembled riders did not look as riders participating in a mating flight should. Their faces were drawn and anxious and, rather than being clustered around the green dragon’s rider, they were all keeping their distance, save for one man who had placed himself between J’son and the rest, face set in a forbidding scowl.

 _Z’rey_ , S’ven’s mind supplied, recognizing J’son’s protective wingmate. Recalling that Z’rey rode a brown, S’ven realized that Math’s ally must be his Bajazeth.

J’son in the corner behind one of the infirmary beds, pressed against the wall. S’ven could see only his curly head and his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.

“J’son,” he rasped.

The curly head came up, revealing J’son’s ashen, tearstreaked face.

“ _S’ven_ ,” he breathed.

Then he was surging to his feet, pushing past Z’rey in his hurry to get to S’ven. The bronze rider managed to untangle himself from M’hew and Imogen in time to catch the agitated boy, gathering the slender, trembling body into his arms as J’son practically threw himself at him.

“S’ven,” J’son sobbed, burying his face in S’ven’s neck in such a way that S’ven could feel the boy’s tears on his skin. “S’ven.”

“Shhh,” S’ven said, nuzzling the dark curls. “Shhh. Shhhh.”

After that, everything became very confused. S’ven was vaguely aware of a jar being pushed into his hand, and then he was somehow sitting on one of the infirmary beds, back against the wall, J’son straddling his lap. The boy was sobbing and trying to kiss him at the same time. Meanwhile, Math was flying closer to Kith, who seemed, suddenly, much more amenable to being caught. Then Kith’s wing joints were in his claws and J’son’s tears were in his mouth and everything was salt and triumph and sweet, searing relief.

When he came back to himself, the infirmary ward was empty and J’son was clawing desperately at his shirt. A quick mental query to Math told him that, contrary to his previous experience, Math and Kith were already on their way back to the weyr. Either J’son had exerted considerably more authority with Kith this time, or the boy’s distress was overriding the dragons’ postcoital mating haze.

“Easy, love,” S’ven said as J’son made an inarticulate sound of agitation over the recalcitrance of S’ven’s shirt. “I’ve got it, don’t fret.”

He lifted the boy off his lap, ignoring his cry of protest, and quickly shed his shirt and trousers before turning his attention to his bedmate’s clothes. J’son tried to assist him, but his hands were shaking so hard that he proved more a hindrance than a help.

Finally, they were both naked and J’son was back in S’ven’s lap, kissing him frantically and grinding his hot, throbbing flesh against his stomach. The boy was too far gone for a slow, tender lead-in to be anything but a torment, so S’ven groped blindly for the jar and, using touch alone, coated his fingers with salve. He held J’son close with one hand and, with the other, reached around and slid his fingers into the boy, preparing him as quickly and gently as he could. When J’son was ready— or at least, as ready as he could be— S’ven removed his hand and reached for the jar again. Coating himself with a somewhat obscene amount of salve to mitigate the less-than-ideal circumstances, he grasped J’son’s hips and slid himself up into the boy’s tight, overheated body.

J’son cried out into S’ven’s mouth, the sound low and broken. His entire body seized up, then, just as abruptly, melted. He pressed himself as close to S’ven as he could, his hands scrabbling at the bronze rider’s shoulders and his body rocking insistently into his lap.

All the while, the young green rider continued to sob quietly.

Wrapping one arm around J’son’s waist and reaching up with the other to hook a hand over the boy’s shoulder, S’ven began to thrust. J’son screamed, pulling his mouth away from S’ven’s and pressing his face to the bronze rider’s shoulder, but his hips began to move in an insistent counterpoint to S’ven’s rhythm.

Now familiar with J’son’s body and desires, S’ven kept the pace hard, but even. His grip on his young lover was firm, even bruising, but controlled, and the kisses were as soft and soothing as he could make them. J’son continued to move with him and, as the pleasure built, he began to demand more, deepening the kisses and thrusting down harder onto S’ven’s arousal. The tears continued to flow, but gradually the sobbing subsided, replaced by breathless moans and inarticulate cries.

They finally stopped altogether when J’son came.

When he was done, the boy slumped against S’ven, limp and spent. S’ven gave him all the time he could and, when his own dragonlust became too much to hold back, he lifted J’son off his lap and laid him down onto the bed, nudging him onto his side. Curling himself around the boy and wrapping him up in his arms, he entered him from behind. J’son moaned and pressed back into the bronze rider’s embrace as S’ven rocked into him. The change in position increased J’son’s resistance, making his already tight body even tighter, and it didn’t take S’ven long to find his release. He buried his face in J’son’s shoulder and emptied himself into the young green rider with a cry.

They lay there for a few moments, gasping, until J’son stiffened and his head came up.

“Kith!” he cried. “Kith!”

_ <I am here, J’son.> _

“Thought I lost you,” J’son said raggedly. “Thought you would go _between_. Oh, Kith!”

_ <I am sorry.> _

Kith’s voice was so miserable in S’ven’s head that he had to swallow back sympathetic tears.

 _ <I would not have let that happen,> _Math said firmly.

J’son curled up tighter, beginning to cry again.

“Kith,” he sobbed. “Kith!”

Realizing that his young lover needed to be physically close to his dragon right now, S’ven slid out of bed and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on hurriedly. Seizing one of the blankets from another cot, he wrapped it around the crying green rider and lifted him up lightly.

 _ <Where are you, Math?> _he asked.

 _ <In the weyr court, S’ven,> _ Math replied. _ <Kith wants her rider, but does not know how to reach him.> _

_ <I am bringing him to her,> _ S’ven said. _ <Do you hear, Kith? J’son will be with you soon.> _

_ <I hear,> _ Kith said, her voice soft with worry and unhappiness. _ <Thank you, S’ven.> _

S’ven hurried out of the infirmary and tried to orient himself. He had never been in this part of Fort and it took him a moment to figure out which direction to go. The smell of beans cooking gave him his bearings and he turned towards the smell, moving as fast as he could.

To his profound relief, when he reached kitchens, Imogen was there. She looked up when they entered, and her face was filled with compassion as she moved to meet them.

“Is he hurt, bronze rider?” she asked softly, looking at the weeping boy in S’ven’s arms.

“Well enough in body, I think, but he has suffered a terrible shock,” S’ven said. “He needs Kith, Imogen. Is there somewhere big enough for both her and Math, somewhere where we can all be together?”

“Come with me,” Imogen said. “Tell your bronze to tell Kith to meet us in the infirmary weyrs.”

S’ven did not bother to correct her— after all, Imogen had no reason to know that he could contact Kith directly. He simply told the worried green where to go and followed Imogen out of the kitchens and down the hall.

“I am glad that you came, weyrleader,” Imogen said. “The situation was becoming grave. I trust that, now that Kith has made herself clear, you will not let this happen again?”

S’ven frowned.

“I don’t understand, Imogen,” he said. “I do not know what has happened. I know that Kith has twice risen before her time, and that she has not been satisfied with her choices. Tonight, Math said that she was threatening to go _between_ rather than mate with any of the dragons available. I asked him to stop her, and he went to her.”

Imogen paused, looking at S’ven in surprise, and her face softened.

“Oh, weyrleader,” she said, her voice filled with sympathy. “I did not realize. It is true, this is unexpected, and so rare that I, indeed, have never seen happen before, but… do you not know what it means when a female dragon rises early, but rejects those who rise with her?’

S’ven looked at the Headwoman, baffled.

“Imogen?” he said.

“If it were a gold acting thus rather than a green, what would you say?” Imogen asked.

S’ven looked away, brow creased in thought. A queen rising before her time, but not wanting to mate with any of the bronzes who chased her… A queen calling halfway across Pern for a different bronze…

… A bronze whose rider could hear her…

Oh, sweet _Faranth_!

“A pair bond?” he gasped. “Kith and Math have a _pair bond_? But… oh, Kith, I am so sorry.”

 _ <Do not grieve, bronze rider,> _ Kith said. _ <Just bring my J’son to me.> _

The weyrs where sick and injured dragons were tended were massive, three times the size of normal weyrs, and were protected from the open air by sliding wooden doors rather than rock. When a dragon was too badly hurt to move on its own, it often required the strength of the other dragons to move it, which meant there needed to be room for up to three full-sized dragons to maneuver.

Math and Kith were in one of the smaller bays. Math lay in a loose semicircle along the wall with Kith curled in a tighter circle against his chest.

“Kith!” J’son cried, lifting his head from S’ven shoulder at the sight of his green.

S’ven brought him quickly over to his dragon, laying him down in the space between her front and back legs and helping him to curl into Kith’s warm bulk. S’ven was peripherally aware of Imogen covering them both with warm sleeping furs before quietly taking her leave, but most of his attention was focused on the green pair.

 _ <J’son,> _Kith murmured, leaning her head over to nuzzle her rider lovingly.

“Oh, Kith!” J’son wept, pressing hard against Kith’s green hide.

 _ <I am sorry,> _ Kith whimpered. _ <I am so sorry, my heart. You are so frightened. I never want to frighten you.> _

“I almost lost you!” J’son choked out. “You almost went _between_ without me!”

 _ <I am sorry,> _Kith repeated, clearly anguished.

 _ <Hush, little one,> _ Math sai. _ <Do not cry. All is well now, and I would never let Kith lose herself _ between _. I hold her mind in mine. If she goes_ between _without you, I will bring her to me. > _

S’ven drew in a sharp breath.

“You can do that?” he said.

 _ <Of course,> _ Math said.

The big bronze snaked his neck around his mate so that he could nudge massive nose up against his own rider. S’ven closed his eyes and leaned into the caress.

“I am so sorry, Math,” he whispered. “You tried to tell me, but I did not listen.”

 _ <I forgive you, my other soul,> _ Math said. _ <Now, care for our bondmate.> _

Startled, S’ven turned his attention back to J’son, who was still clinging to Kith, but was also looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“It’s alright now, love,” S’ven said, curling himself around the smaller boy and wrapping his arms around him. “You heard Math, he will let no harm come to Kith, just as I will let no harm come to you.”

“Thank you,” J’son mumbled. “Thank you for coming. I had no right to ask for it, but I… _we_ needed you so badly. I couldn’t… I’m so sorry!”

“Shhh, love,” S’ven said, leaning down to kiss his young lover’s cheek. “It is I who am sorry. I should have realized what was amiss. I did not recognize that she and Math had formed a pair bond, and in consequence, we were almost too late to help. I was a fool, and my ignorance has cost both of you dearly. I am so, so sorry, J’son.”

“I do not understand,” J’son said. “What is a pair bond?”

“It is a bond that, very rarely, forms between dragons during a mating flight,” S’ven said. “Thenceforth, the queen— or the green— will only accept one dragon as her mate. Any other dragon will be repugnant to her, and she will either mate reluctantly, or…”

“Or go _between_ ,” J’son choked out. “Oh, Kith, I didn’t know! Oh, my beautiful Kith, I would give you the world if you wanted it, you know I would! If I’d known, I would have…”

He trailed off when he realized what he was about to say and looked up at S’ven in horror.

“You would have given her my bronze?” S’ven teased, smiling and cuddling the boy closer to show him that he was not in the least offended. “Well, and so you should. It is no more than she deserves, and a rider should always give his dragon its due. And I do not think that Math objects.”

“But… but what about you?” J’son stammered. “I mean, Math… you… it’s just…”

 _ <S’ven will give me Kith,> _ Math said confidently, interrupting J’son’s inarticulate protests, _ <Won’t you, S’ven?> _

“Of course, Math,” S’ven said fondly. “Although really, she is not mine to give. Technically, we have this backwards: J’son should be giving Kith to you and I should be giving you to her.”

 _ <S’ven?> _said Kith, very quietly.

“Yes, Kith?” S’ven asked.

_ <Can I have Math? Please?> _

S’ven swallowed hard. The normally cheeky green sounded so subdued that it made his heart ache.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly somewhat hoarse, “He’s yours. I’m sorry I didn’t realize what had happened sooner. If I had, I would never have tried to keep him from you.”

 _ <Thank you, S’ven,> _Kith said, her voice thick with emotion.

 _ <J’son?> _Math asked.

“I… you… of course, Math,” J’son stuttered. “I couldn’t… of course.”

The great bronze dragon’s contented thrum vibrated through all of them, conveyed to the two riders through Kith’s smaller bulk. Math curled his neck and laid his head down against S’ven’s back, nudging him into J’son, who, in turn, was pushed more firmly against Kith.

 _ <This is as it should be,> _Kith said with a contented sigh, settling her own head into the curve of Math’s neck.

The dragons were clearly settling towards sleep, but J’son was still agitated.

“Wait,” he said, twisting to look at S’ven, “What happens now? Kith and I are of Fort, but you and Math are of  Igen. How can they be together?”

S’ven rubbed his palms over the young rider’s arm soothingly, throat tight with sympathy. This must all be very frightening for J’son.

“That is partly up to you and Kith, love,” he said. “I can’t come to Fort, I’m afraid— I’m pretty much the only rider at Igen that can’t be transferred— but I can bring Math here when Kith rises, if you want to stay in your own weyr. Or you and Kith can transfer to Igen.”

 _ <I want to be with Math,> _ Kith said fretfully, lifting her head. _ <You both said I could.> _

“It sounds like Kith has a definite opinion,” S’ven said. “Do you think you’d be alright with that, love? Moving to Igen?”

J’son gulped.

“I… I think so,” he said nervously. “I’m sure we’d be… I mean… but will Lady Meia and Weyleader S’mon agree?”

“Yes, love,” S’ven said. “I know you probably only deal with them when they’re cross about something— I’m ashamed to say that there are many of my riders I’ve only met personally when I had to scold them— but they would do anything for their people.”

“And it won’t… cause problems?” J’son asked. “At Igen? I mean, you _are_ the weyrleader, and Math with Kith… and I know you said Lady Lidia doesn’t mind, but won’t your riders?”

“No, love,” S’ven said, kissing J’son’s nose. “I may be fair useless when it comes to spinning tales, but I know full well who in my weyr is proficient at it, and it’s high time they used their powers for good. By the time they are done, my people will think this is the best romance dragonkind has seen since Cerenath first flew Faranth.”

He would have to talk to L’gan, M’dalen, A’sander, Teresa, and Jorek as soon as possible to get the rumors started, S’ven thought. J’son was not entirely wrong, this situation could be cause for resentment if it were handled poorly— or not handled at all— but he had faith in his gossips. They would tell a tale that would have his riders and folk of the lower caverns sighing into their _klah_. And, if S’ven coughed up the right bribes, it might even be a story that wouldn’t make him and J’son blush.

Which was exactly what J’son was doing now. The boy bit his lip and ducked his head, trying to hide his scarlet face, but since the flush had spread down his neck and across his chest, his efforts were largely wasted.

“Do not worry, love,” S’ven said, secretly enjoying the blushing. “If you decide to come to Igen, I will make sure you are welcome there.”

 _ <Please, J’son?> _Kith pleaded.

J’son’s head came up, eyes widening.

“Of course, Kith,” he said, turning back to his green and burying his face in her side. “You know I would do anything for you, dear heart.”

 _ <Good,> _ Kith said, laying her head back down.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” S’ven said softly, kissing J’son’s curls. “You’ve had a hard day.”

J’son heaved out a breath, then relaxed and nuzzled further into his dragon’s warmth. S’ven settled himself more comfortably into place behind him, finding that Kith had moved her foreleg to provide him with a pillow. His silent thanks was met with a sleepy wave of warm affection. Then the tumultuous events of the last few hours, combined with the fact that it was considerably later on Igen time than it was on Fort’s, caught up with him and he found himself drifting quickly into sleep.

 

***

“ _Oh_.”

The single soft utterance roused S’ven from the last light vestiges of sleep. He opened his eyes to the sight of J’son’s tousled curls, illuminated in the pale light of morning, which was streaming in through the high-set windows of the weyr. Blinking, he turned his head to look over his shoulder and was met with the sight of Imogen and Meia standing in the inner doorway.

The soppy expression on Meia’s face was enough to make him cringe.

In her defense, the four of them must have made quite a sight, the two dragons curled protectively around their riders, who were themselves curled into each other, taking shelter in their dragons’ size and warmth. If S’ven had been in Meia’s place, he might well have looked a little soppy himself.

“S’ven,” Meia said with a tender smile.

“Meia,” he replied with a nod, fighting an embarrassed blush at having a fellow weyr leader see him thus. “Headwoman”.

“Weyrleader,” Imogen said, “How do you? And how does J’son?”

S’ven blinked, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Better, I think,” he said. “He’ll need… he’ll need some tending when he wakes. Last night, he required Kith’s presence more than anything else, but he’ll be sore this morning.”

“There’s a bathing chamber in the infirmary,” Imogen said, nodding. “I can ask our weyr healer—”

“No,” S’ven said firmly. “I will take care of him. It is my responsibility now.”

Imogen nodded, looking satisfied.

“It’s true, then?” Meia asked. “Math and Kith?”

“I fully so,” S’ven said. “In truth, I am ashamed that I did not see it sooner.”

“That’s wonderful,” Meia said. “Mind you, it is going to send every rider on Pern into a dither, not to mention making all of our lives very difficult, but… a pair bond. That is something to celebrate. And to cherish.”

“Thank you, Meia,” S’ven said sincerely, profoundly grateful for the weyrwoman’s words.

It was true, this was going to cause no end of trouble, but it would not do to lose sight of how rare and precious such a bond between dragons was. He could only hope that the other weyrleaders, as well as the riders of Igen, would remember that.

“When you have looked to J’son and to Math and Kith, bring J’son to my weyr,” Meia said. “Sidroth and I will call Lidia and S’mon and we will discuss what happens next.”

“I will,” S’ven said. “I would like Imogen to be there too. If you have time, of course, Headwoman.” He nodded at Imogen. “She has been keeping a special eye on J’son, and I hope she can help us make this… easier for him.”

“Of course,” Meia said. “If that is agreeable, Imogen?”

“I would not be anywhere else, Weyrwoman,” Imogen said solemnly. Turning to S’ven, she said, “I will bring your breakfast here. The lad shouldn’t have to deal with an after-flight on top of everything else.”

S’ven thanked her, and the two women took their leave.

True to her word, Imogen returned a short time later with food and _klah_ , as well as the clothing they had discarded in the infirmary the night before. J’son was, at that point, just beginning to stir, and when he woke, S’ven fed him, then got him up and into the bathing pool.

As S’ven had suspected, J’son was very sore from the previous night. Although S’ven had tried to be careful, almost losing Kith, combined with the powerful emotions of the pair bond, had made it impossible for either of them to exercise much restraint, and the need to get J’son to Kith had prevented S’ven from caring for him properly afterwards. S’ven washed the young rider carefully, examining him for any injuries that would require a healer, but, to his relief, J’son was not torn or deeply bruised, merely raw and tender from hard use. He applied balm generously, choosing one that had a measure of numbweed mixed with the unguent, and helped J’son dress.

He deliberately waited until Math and Kith had broken their fast to tell the green rider about the meeting with the other weyrleaders. J’son had been shy and skittish since waking up, and S’ven had not wanted to put any added stress on him until it was necessary.

As S’ven had expected, the thought of meeting with the weyrleaders of both Fort and Igen caused the boy extreme agitation, despite the fact that he had had one of those weyrleaders in his bed twice now. S’ven soothed him as best he could, while having Math bespeak Sidroth, telling Meia that they would be there when Math and Kith were done eating.

As the two dragons were finishing licking the blood off of one another’s jaws, the watch dragon gave a cry and S’ven looked up to see, not one, but _two_ golden queens, along with a bronze, bursting out of _between_ above Fort’s starstones. Beside S’ven, J’son gasped.

“Oh my,” S’ven said. “It looks like Lidia doesn’t trust me to handle this with the appropriate delicacy. She’s brought backup.”

“Oh, _Faranth_ ,” J’son gulped. “I… Kith and I really didn’t mean to cause this much trouble! I…”

“Hush, lad,” S’ven said. “I meant that Lidia doesn’t trust me to handle _you_ appropriately. She brought Gila and Nanath, which means she thinks someone is going to need caring for. Since she has said on more than one occasion that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, that means she thinks you are going to need a some extra consideration. And she’s brought M’hew in case S’mon, Meia, or I say something that makes you feel badly. We tend to be… less than tactful sometimes, but M’hew can generally smooth it over.”

J’son did not look reassured.

“It’s alright, J’son,” S’ven said. “It’s a good thing. I will do whatever I can to make your transition to Igen easier, but frankly, compared to Gila, my powers are limited. With her looking out for you, you should settle in in no time. And if anyone can sort this out with the minimum of confusion, it's M’hew.”

Despite these assurances, J’son was white as a sheet when Math and Kith set down outside S’mon and Meia’s weyr. The two dragons deposited their riders, than moved to a sunny spot and curled around each other, magnificently ignoring the other dragons assembled on the visitors’ ledge. S’ven shepherded the boy inside, where, true to the bronze rider’s suspicions, he was immediately enveloped under the protective auspices of Igen’s retired senior weyrwoman.

“You poor young man,” Gila said, stepping forward and putting a gentle arm around J’son’s shoulders. “You look like you could use some more _klah_ and a day in the sun with your dragon. Come and sit down. We can take care of the first while we’re waiting for the weyrleaders to finish listening to themselves talk, and then you can go enjoy the second.”

J’son looked up at Gila with wide eyes, but, by the time she had finished, he was already wearing a shy smile. He followed her obediently and happily accepted the cup of _klah_ she poured for him, settling into the chair at her side with far less nervousness than he had displayed previously. Gila looked at S’ven pointedly and nodded to the chair on J’son’s other side.

S’ven sat.

Introductions were made, and S’ven was surprised to find that, in addition to Imogen and M’hew, J’son’s wingleader B’tram had been included in the proceedings. When the introductions were concluded, S’mon, who was looking torn between amusement and aggravation, leaned forward.

“Right,” he said. “So, it looks like we have a pretty problem here, eh?”

“By which you mean, congratulations to Math and Kith, and we are all honored to witness their pair bonding?” M’hew interjected with a sardonic smile.

S’ven caught J’son’s eye and raised an eyebrow, and the boy nearly choked trying to hold back a giggle. Gila nodded at him approvingly, causing S’ven to— well, he did _not_ preen, but it was a near thing. The older weyrwoman’s approval was a heady thing.

“Er, yes,” S’mon said, looking flustered. “That is— well, _obviously_ we’re all happy about the pair bond. It’s so sharding rare, and from what I know, it usually brings good luck to the weyrs and the dragons. It’s just…”

“It’s just that I happen to be Igen’s weyrleader at the moment,” S’ven said, taking pity on S’mon.

“Exactly,” S’mon said.

“For someone who is so quiet and agreeable most of the time, you certainly do know how to cause a kafuffle, S’ven,” Meia said with an amused little smile.

“It’s none of my doing,” S’ven said, shrugging. “I never asked to be weyrleader, I was perfectly content as a simple wingsecond. Math is the one who flew Laurenth, and she’s the one who let him catch her.”

“A choice over which we all puzzle daily,” Meia rejoined smartly.

“Here now,” S’mon protested. “S’ven’s a decent enough fellow. And Igen hasn’t collapsed or anything, so he must be doing something right.”

“Oh, is that how you bronze riders measure a weyrleader’s success?” Lidia said with a mischievous little smile. “Well, I can understand how you would want to set the bar low. One never knows, after all, when one might end up in yours or S’ven’s position. You wouldn’t want to have too tall an order to fulfil if your bronze happens to fly a senior queen.”

J’son was listening to the exchanged with open bemusement, and Gila leaned over to speak into his ear. Her voice, however, was pitched to be heard by everyone.

“This is how weyrleaders show respect and friendship for one another,” she said. “It’s not very dignified, but it _is_ entertaining.”

“Yes, well,” S’mon said, rubbing his forehead. “Now that we’ve established that bronze riders are lazy cads, perhaps we can talk about the little bother— _happy_ bother!—” this with a glance at M’hew, “That S’ven and Math have got us all into.”

Lidia gave an undignified snort, and M’hew covered his mouth with his hand.

“Sidroth says that Kith wants to go to Igen with S’ven and Math,” Meia said. “Is that correct, J’son?”

J’son went scarlet and nodded, too intimidated by the company he was in to speak.

“Does that plan meet with your approval?” Meia persisted, her voice gentle and encouraging.

“I… whatever Kith wants,” J’son managed to get out, looking like he was hoping for said dragon to swoop in and rescue him. “I— I’ll do anything as long as she’s happy.”

“Clever lad,” Gila said approvingly, patting him on the arm. “You have figured out what many riders take turns and turns to discover: the surest path to happiness is to do whatever your dragon tells you.”

“If I had stuck to that rule, I could have saved us all a great deal of pain,” S’ven agreed.

“S’ven?” Lidia asked, frowning.

S’ven sighed.

“Math tried to tell me,” he said. “He wanted me to bring him to Fort when Kith rose the last time, but I did not listen to him. Last night, when she tried to go _between_ … if I’d realized what he was trying to tell me the first time, that would never have happened.”

“Great shells, lad!” M’hew said. “What were you waiting for, a formal announcement?”

“I made a mistake,” S’ven said shamefacedly. “I did not understand. I have already apologized to J’son and Kith for it,” he added hastily, seeing the promise of retribution in they eyes of all three weyrwomen. “I was a fool.”

“Yes,” Lidia said, still glaring at him. “You were.”

S’ven shrank under his weyrwoman’s disapproval.

“Alright, alright, run him through the mangle on your own time, Lidia,” S’mon said hastily.

“Just leave him his balls,” Meia put in. “I fancy J’son and Kith might be somewhat displeased if you removed them.”

J’son let out a squeak of distress and mortification and Gila and M’hew both cast repressive glances at Fort’s weyrwoman.

“The point is, we’re talking about transferring people from Fort to Igen just when we’re trying to move riders in the opposite direction,” S’mon said, rubbing his forehead harder.

“Oh, for the love of baby dragons, not this again,” Lidia said, exasperated. “S’mon, your obsession with balancing the numbers is becoming unreasonable.”

“It’s not unreasonable!” S’mon said, losing all patience. “The holders are getting fractious, and without the threat of thread, it's essential that we keep them calm or they might start to make real trouble!”

“We cannot jeopardize our dragons or our riders simply for the convenience of the holders,” Lidia shot back.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” M’hew broke in, “Surely we’re stirring this up all out of proportion. It’s one pair, not an entire fighting wing, and anyways, S’ven and Lidia can just send an extra rider to Fort when the time comes to make up for it. There’s no need to convene a High Court over it.”

“That’s the thing, though,” S’mon said unhappily, “It’s _not_ just one pair. I’ve been talking to Imogen and B’tram, and they aren’t happy about breaking up J’son’s wing right now. Well, what’s left of it, at any rate.”

S’ven sat up and, beside him, he felt J’son tense.

“Wingleader? Headwoman?” Lidia asked.

“I am concerned about the effect of removing J’son from his wing at this time,” Imogen said, “Particularly about how it will effect Z’rey, T’ia, Sh’dan, and G’brel. I don’t think they’re ready to lose another member of their family quite yet.”

“Our wing got pretty shredded at the end of the Pass,” B’tram amplified, his weathered face impassive, when the Igen riders looked at him questioningly. “There was a bad fall over Boll and we lost two thirds of the wing pretty much in one go. One of the other wings flying with us was completely wiped out except for one brown rider— that’s Z’rey. Z’rey came to us as my wingsecond when we were filling out the wing again, and honestly, I think taking care of  T’ia, Sh’dan, G’brel, and J’son is what kept him from going mad. They were our youngest at the time, and Boll hit them particularly hard. They won’t react well to being separated, and Z’rey won’t like letting one of charges out of his care.”

S’ven looked over at J’son, who was gripping the arms of his chair and staring at the table in front of him, face pale. The boy hadn’t said a word about this when S’ven presented the option for him to come to Igen, but, then, Kith hadn’t given him much of a choice. Still, S’ven felt bad that J’son hadn’t felt comfortable enough to say anything.

S’ven didn’t know if he was helping or not, but he couldn’t stand by and do nothing, so he reached over and put a hand on J’son’s back, rubbing slow circles across the taut muscles. The boy shuddered beneath his palm, but pressed back into the touch, indicating that he found some comfort in it.

“We don’t have to go,” J’son blurted out. “I mean, Kith really wants to, but… she cares about the wing, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go, lad,” B’tram said. “You don’t mess with pair bonds, that’s a basic fact of being a dragonrider. Normally in this situation, I’d push for you to stay here and for Kith’s bondmate to transfer. Since that can’t happen,” he shot S’ven a wry look, “I’m arguing for sending all of you to Igen, or at least the Boll veterans.”

“Oh,” Lidia said, sitting back. “Well, that does complicate things.”

“Not unduly,” M’hew insisted. “So we— you, rather— send five extra riders to Fort instead of one when we do the transfers. It’s still not the end of Pern.”

“It does present difficulties, however,” S’mon said. “Currently, we can’t make _any_ transfers, not until this nonsense with Benden is sorted.”

The Fort weyrleader glared at Lidia, and S’ven felt the muscles in his jaw tense. He did not like where this was going at all.

“I won’t change my mind, S’mon, and I doubt that R’den will either,” Lidia said, lifting her chin.

“Well, I can’t send five riders to Igen without replacing them,” S’mon said, squaring his jaw.

“I have no objection to replacing them,” Lidia returned placidly. “In fact, I am perfectly willing to transfer all the wings allotted to Fort to you any time you like.”

“Scorch it, Lidia, I won’t do this piecemeal!” S’mon barked. “It’s bad enough that you and R’den are persisting in this… vendetta, but I won’t alienate B’ron further by accepting riders on behalf of Fort when you refuse to send them to Benden.”

“And I will not send my riders to Benden while B’ron is weyrleader,” Lidia returned icily.

The two of them glared at one another.

“Are we saying that, in order for this transfer to happen, the whole redistribution issue has to be sorted out?” M’hew asked mildly.

“Since it involves moving half a wing, I don’t think that’s unreasonable,” S’mon replied, not breaking his staring contest with Lidia.

“I am sorry to disabuse you of that notion, but I think this whole conversation is unreasonable,” Gila spoke up. “You all seem to have forgotten what precipitated this meeting in the first place. A Fort dragon is in distress and it is incumbent upon you, as weyrleaders, to alleviate that distress by whatever means necessary. Now, the task is not complicated. Young Kith has made her needs abundantly clear, and in the most emphatic terms possible. I suggest that you take her immediate transfer to Igen as a given and accept whatever that transfer entails gracefully, lest she feel compelled to repeat the message.”

J’son let out a muffled sound of distress at Gila’s words, and S’ven was alarmed to see his skin turning an unhealthy shade of grey. The bronze rider reacted before he could think, pushing back his chair and pulling the boy bodily into his lap. J’son curled into his embrace, trembling, his fingers tangling in S’ven’s shirt.

“Shhh, love,” S’ven said. “It’s alright. It won’t happen, I promise. I was an idiot, and I will spend my life making it up to you and Kith, but I swear, I will not allow Kith to be put in that position ever again.”

“Oh,” Lidia said, looking at her weyrleader and the boy in his arms in consternation. “Oh, I am so sorry. My apologies, J’son. It is incredibly insensitive of us to involve you in this.”

J’son was too upset to answer. He just pressed harder into S’ven, burying his face in the bronze rider’s chest.

“Well done,” Meia told S’mon tartly.

“I’m not denying permission!” S’mon protested. “I wouldn’t do that. I was simply saying…”

“You were using Kith and Math’s pair bond as a bargaining chip,” S’ven snapped, J’son’s distress overcoming his own natural reticence. “Kith nearly went _between_ without her rider last night, S’mon. Next to that, none of the this is of any real import.”

S’mon looked aghast. In S’ven’s arms, J’son let out a breathless sob.

“Shards!” S’ven swore. “I’m sorry, J’son. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It didn’t happen, love. Math said he would never let it happen, remember? If Kith ever gets it into her head to go _between_ without you, she’ll end up right beside him. And I know he’s telling the truth, because he went to her without me last night. She gave him the coordinates, and he made the jump on his own with no problems. If he can do it, Kith can do it too. You won’t lose her, I promise.”

“Shells,” M’hew said. “Math can do that? Did he…”

“Now is _not_ the time, M’hew,” Gila said reprovingly.

“It seems that, if J’son’s wingmates do indeed wish to go with him, we are making arrangements to transfer five riders as soon as may be,” Meia said, her voice unwontedly subdued.

“As are we,” Lidia said softly. “I shall ask for volunteers.”

“Since they’ll be transferring into my wing, I’d be grateful if you could see if there’s a young rider ready to be a wingsecond who’s willing, weyrwoman,” B’tran told her. “I haven’t talked to him yet, of course, but I’d bet my dragon’s dewclaws they’re all going to go with J’son, which means I’ll be losing mine.”

“Of course, Wingleader,” Lidia said, inclining her head.

“What reason are we going to give for making a special transfer like this?” S’mon asked. “I don’t mean to be wherry-headed about it, but B’ron really is going to kick up a stink about any riders transferring anywhere right now.”

“Here’s a novel idea,” Gila said mildly. “You could tell the truth. Faranth knows last night’s goings on are probably all over Pern already. We may as well take the opportunity to set the record straight before someone decides that young J’son here has become the weyrwoman of Igen.”

J’son, who had just managed to calm himself sufficiently to remove his face from S’ven’s shirt, started violently and let out a most undignified squawk. S’ven looked at Gila in horror, then proceeded to bury his face in J’son’s curls and stay there.

“I don’t suppose,” he said to nobody in particular, “That Math and I could just disappear now?”

“And leave me and Kith to deal with this, this _Gather Day farce_ ?” J’son hissed, his voice strangled. “Don’t you _dare_.”

Apparently, the situation had become dire enough to overcome the lad’s shyness. J’son was probably, S’ven thought absently, be one of those riders who operated best _in extremis_.

“No, no, you and Kith would come with us,” he said aloud. “We could go to one of Ista’s isles. Build a palm shelter, live off of wild wherries, nuts, and fruits. V’tor wouldn’t mind. He’d probably help us.”

 _ <I don’t like wherries as much as herdbeasts,> _a sleepy female voice interjected.

J’son smothered a slightly hysterical laugh.

“Well, so much for that idea,” S’ven said, finally lifting his head.

The rest of the room was regarding them with blank bewilderment.

“Kith says she doesn’t like wherries,” he said, trying to deflect the sudden attention with an offhand remark.

He was entirely unsuccessful.

“You can, ah, hear Kith, S’ven?” Lidia asked delicately.

“Um… yes?” S’ven said warily.

“And J’son, can you hear Math?” Lidia persisted.

J’son, realizing that they had the room’s full and undivided attention, looked like he wanted to leave for the Istan isles on the spot, and never mind his dragon’s preference for herdbeasts over wherries.

“Yes,” he gulped.

“And… how long has this been going on?” Lidia inquired.

“Um… since Math flew Kith the first time?” S’ven said, aware that they were in trouble, but unsure of the specifics.

“And you didn’t think to _tell_ anybody that, lad?” M’hew burst out.

“Er… no?” S’ven said. “Why?”

“Because, Weyrleader, being able to hear one another’s dragons indicates a profound connection between you and Math and J’son and Kith,” Gila said, amused. “While such an ability is not exclusive to pair bonded dragons and their riders, it is one of the most reliable signs of a pair bond. Anybody who was weyrbred would have put two and two together and realized what was happening.”

“Well, I’m _not_ weyrbred,” S’ven said testily.

He really despised being the center of attention.

 _ <No, you’re just silly,> _ Kith said, obvious fondness in her voice. _ <Do you think the weyrleader of Ista would give us herdbeasts instead of wherries for our island?> _

J’son’s eyes widened. He bit his lip as he looked up at S’ven, who was struggling to control his own expression. Their eyes met and that was too much for both of them. They broke out into helpless laughter and, when their outburst earned them shocked looks from the other members of the meeting, they just laughed harder.

“Does anybody else feel like they missed something?” M’hew asked.

“I rather think that’s the point,” Lidia replied, smiling indulgently.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a much briefer (and smuttier) sequel to _Green Dragon Rising _. Somehow, it turned into an exploration of the transition from the end of a Pass to the Interval.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _The author has no idea how this happened._  
> 


End file.
